


stars and constellations

by rinrin_obliviate



Category: Lord of the Flies - William Golding
Genre: 3 am thoughts, Angst, Can actually a roger/simon fic if you squint closely, Gen, Late Night Conversations, Light Angst, M/M, Open to Interpretation, Roger is a disaster, Seriously it's just two boys being all deep and angsty in the middle of the night, and Simon is a cinnamon roll, but he's my disaster, life and death, they both contemplate about life and death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:54:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26699347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinrin_obliviate/pseuds/rinrin_obliviate
Summary: Roger contemplates the meaning of life and death, and what it means to be good. Simon doesn't have all the answers, but maybe that's okay.“Sure, I’m part of the choir. Father says I have the best alto voice. Mum lets me participate in bible discussions and study meetings. Still, I’m nowhere near the definition of good. I know that.” He smiles for a bit before his voice lowers to a whisper. “You’d go to heaven, Si.”
Relationships: Roger & Simon (Lord of the Flies), Roger/Simon (Lord of the Flies)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 16





	stars and constellations

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first Lord of the Flies fic, so please bear with me! I recently got introduced to this novel, and I just needed to express how much I love it. 
> 
> Please note that this is not meant to romanticize Roger or toxic relationships and such. Roger was savage and barbaric throughout the book, yes, but he was once a child too. A child, who, at least once, was confused about who he wants to be. I wanted to write that side of him, and I hope I did the story justice. Thank you so much, and enjoy!

_Like constellations imploding in the night_

_Everything is turning, everything is turning_

_And the shapes that you drew may change beneath a different light_

_And everything you thought you knew will fall apart, but you'll be alright_

_-The Oh Hellos_

“Where do you think we go when we die?”

The faint rustling of sand, followed by a sudden, unmistakable movement. A pair of blue eyes stare into him, bright and unrelenting. A shaft of pale moonlight dances beneath him, and for a moment Roger wonders how one can dive deep into someone’s eyes and find endless galaxies. Especially if those pair of eyes belong to Simon’s. Roger knows this, so he dares not look. Instead, he continues to talk.

“Mum used to tell me about the stars and the sky and everything in between,” Roger muses, his mind occupied with soft hums and late-night stories. “And how we eventually turn out like them.”

Simon is still staring at him. Deeply, in fact. He can feel the intensity of his gaze, but for the first time ever, he doesn’t want to squirm away. Simon seems to notice this and preps himself up, probably so that he could get a better look at Roger. 

“Tell me about it.” Simon doesn’t ask if he’s okay, or ask why Roger is suddenly asking about life and death in the middle of the night. He finds him a bit peculiar, Simon. Then again, so is Roger. Maybe, he thinks, they can be weird together. 

Roger sees this as an opportunity to speak, so he does. “Mum says that when we die, our body turns into stardust. She says that God scatters them along the sky, and that is what we see as stars.” He lifts a finger. “We used to trace these stars like a crossword and call them constellations.”

It’s a bit intriguing, what adults come up with. Specks of dust turning into celestial bodies, forming constellations with stories hidden underneath them. Sometimes, he ponders, adults are simply just a bigger version of children. 

He lets his finger flop down into a pile of leaves akin to a bed, something that provided little comfort for him or anyone else on the island. “These stars, they look down on us. They guard us, even protect us if they need to. It reminds us that we’re not alone.”

Of course, there is more to that story than there ever will be. She says that in the middle of the night, when the world is asleep and he starts to feel everything at once, it’s the stars trying to talk. The song of the wind, the faint but visible twinkle of stars, and the scent of morning dew—it is them. Beneath him, the stars pulsate as if it has a heartbeat, alive and breathing.

Roger closes his eyes, and he breathes.

Silence lingers for a while, just for a moment. He is still aware of the faint snoring of Piggy from a distance. The littluns are muttering amongst themselves, engulfed in dreams of beasties and island fruits. Jack’s probably dreaming of hunting and pigs, that boy. And Ralph, well, Ralph is probably busy accomplishing chief stuff and being chief-like.

Roger doesn’t need to bat an eye. He doesn’t need to glance to know that Simon is still scrutinizing him in a way that he doesn’t understand. Then again, there are some things people aren’t meant to understand. Sometimes, it makes sense for things not to make sense. Maybe that’s what the world exists for. Maybe knowing everything just leads to mankind’s ultimate downfall.

“Don’t you believe in heaven and hell?” 

It was a sudden question, and yet Roger anticipates this. He opens his eyes and lets himself be engulfed in the night sky. They are both choir members, after all. They fixate themselves in Kyrie hymns and songs of glory and praise. To believe in something as ridiculous as stardusts and dead ancestors seems child-like and hopeless. Yet, he also knows that people believe what they want to believe for the comfort of themselves. 

“I do,” Roger simply answers. “I do, of course. It’s just that I don’t think I’d go to heaven.”

He says this as if he has already accepted his fate. “Sure, I’m part of the choir. Father says I have the best alto voice. Mum lets me participate in bible discussions and study meetings. Still, I’m nowhere near the definition of good. I know that.” He smiles for a bit before his voice lowers to a whisper. “You’d go to heaven, Si.”

Simon is silent for a while. The scent of the salty air wraps them in a thick blanket, reminding him of hot cocoas, knitted cardigans, and a place he once calls home. Then…

“I’d be alone, then.”

Roger furrows his brows. “What do you mean?”

“If I went to heaven, and you’re not there.” Maybe it’s just the illusion of the breeze, but oddly enough, he senses the sadness in Simon’s voice. “I’d be alone.”

“No, you won’t,” he counters. “You have your mom n’ dad. And the littluns, and Ralph and Piggy too. There’s also the choir, but I think it’s Jack that has to stay here for a little bit longer.”

Roger laughs for a bit, a faint and half-hearted chuckle. He waits for Simon to talk, but when he does, there’s still that same peculiarity in his voice. “All the same. Things won’t be the way they are without you.”

He closes his eyes, _again_. He knows how cruel the world can be—taking the good and leaving the bad. Maybe it’s why he prefers the version of his mum’s afterlife. 

He isn’t aware of the tears streaming down his face, landing pitifully on his side. They graze the side of his ears, but Roger doesn’t bother to wipe them off. Instead, he prays that the world around them is dark enough for the boy beside him not to notice.

But Simon does. He always notices. “You’re crying.”

Roger knows better than to deny it, so he plays it off as a joke. “Yeah, I guess.”

“You’re afraid of dying.”

The statement hovers in between the line of uncertainty and truth. Simon’s tone doesn’t sound accusatory. He sounds hopeful and assuring, and Roger just wants to cry in the middle of it all. 

“No,” Roger whispers. “I’m afraid of living.”

The silence settles, with nothing but the unmistakable echoes of his words surrounding them. He has opened another subject, and he knows this. There, deep inside him, down the part where he’s usually afraid to search, is where the real problem lies. And now he’s letting it go. The words he doesn’t know he is capable of saying come out of him. It ebbs and flows, like the vast ocean from a distance.

“I don’t know what we’ve become, Simon.” His voice shakes, and with it his mind. “I don’t know what we’re becoming.”

He doesn’t know why he’s telling this to Simon, out of anyone. Simon, who climbs trees and helps the littluns eat their fruit. Simon, who treats everyone as a brother and sings gleefully in the choir. Simon, who is so brave and so _kind_. Simon, who is pretty much immune to the beasts they fear.

“Roger, look at me.”

The words themselves make Roger look at him, and unsurprisingly, Simon’s body is turned towards him. Just as he expects, his eyes are brimmed with fire and stars and a little bit of hope. 

“Remember when you first walked into choir practice?” Simon asks, and he doesn’t have to wait for Roger to nod for him to continue. “And then you saw this little kid crying because he wasn’t able to perfect his singing voice?”

Roger doesn’t know where Simon is going, so he allows him to speak further. “And so you sat with him, listened until he perfected his notes so that he won’t be reprimanded. But in doing so, you were the one who got shouted at by the chapter chorister at the time.”

It was quiet for a while, with the faint rush of waves ringing past them as the sea meets the shore. Then… “I don’t think you’re evil.”

Roger moves so that he, too, was facing Simon directly. He lets himself be engulfed by the swarm of mysteries he can find in the boy’s eyes. There’s probably more to him than that, and Roger finds himself wanting to know more about them.

“I don’t think you’re evil,” Simon repeats. “Because you choose not to be.”

He allows Simon to speak this time, so he does. “There will always be the island. The fire, the hunting, the pigs, and everything. And the beast. But I think…”

Roger doesn’t urge him to speak. He allows him to think, just like how he did earlier. 

“I think that the person you want to become will always be up to you.”

_"Maybe there is a beast...what I mean is, maybe it's only us.”_

“The person you choose to be defines you, Roger,” Simon whispers, his voice as soft as the crystal hum of the wind. “And you can always choose to be good.”

Roger focuses on this. He was led to believe that in life, kindness is something that one is born with. Either you’re good, or you’re bad—there’s no grey area. But maybe, just maybe, people like Simon aren’t inherently good. Good people don’t always carry halos and wings and be all saint-like. No, maybe good people are good because they choose to be one.

“You really think so?”

Simon hums in agreement. “I don’t know where we go when we die, but either way, I still want to be with you.” Simons smiles for a bit, and for the moment, just for that night, they become children again. “So you better come to heaven with me.”

“Then you’ll have to put up with me, every minute of every day,” he jokes. It has been so long since he has felt like a kid. No rules, no assemblies, just little kids joking around and poking each other’s heads off. It feels relaxing not to fight off the enemy they call themselves. “Maybe, when we die, God will be kind enough to put our constellations together.”

“We’d make a wonderful pair,” Simon laughs. He yawns after that, and his yawn was too infectious Roger cannot help but do so too. “Goodnight, Roger.”

“Goodnight, Simon.”

For a while, he allows himself to feel everything—the rustling of leaves, the sand blown away by the wind, and the salty wisp of air. Above him, the stars begin to fade as a new dawn approaches. He feels so small, so tiny underneath the vast expanse of the universe that has lived longer than the first time adults have ever breathed. And maybe, just maybe, adults aren’t always right. Adults don’t always have an answer for everything, and that’s okay. The line between life and death is uncertain, but maybe the purpose of life is to live for that uncertainty.

And maybe Simon is right. He can be good. He can choose to be good.

**Author's Note:**

> if you want to talk to me about LOTF, feel free to do so! Find me at:  
> [rinrin-obliviate](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/rinrin-obliviate)


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